


For Thine is the Kingdom

by luna_plath



Category: The Borgias (2011)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Chaptered, F/M, Incest, Politics, Post-Canon, Post-Series, Renaissance Era, Romance, Secret Relationship, Secrets, Sexual Content, Sibling Incest, Sibling Love, Wakes & Funerals, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-11 22:18:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2085303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luna_plath/pseuds/luna_plath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the days leading to Alfonso’s funeral Cesare hardly had a moment alone with his sister.  She kept company with her ladies, in black gowns and embroidered veils, even dressing little Giovanni in a black doublet, a delicate onyx necklace fixed around her pale throat.  Lucrezia remained enigmatic, her long looks revealing very little.  It was maddening.  He recalled the way she had spoken of Alfonso, the way she had sighed and said <i>I grow so tired of my husband</i>, knowing better than most how he had dispatched her previous one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This picks up right where "The Prince" left off. This is the first time I've ever written anything for The Borgias so I hope I've done the characters justice.

The bowl on the bedside table was filled with pink water, sticky and warm and colored with blood, wiped from Lucrezia’s pale cheeks. Her head rested in his lap, her blonde curls soft beneath his fingers, almost angelic if one ignored the cooling body of Alfonso D’Aragona next to her. His lips just brushing her brow, Cesare kissed the top of his sister’s head. He picked up Lucrezia and held her as he had on the night of her first wedding, her limbs as limp as a doll.

Cesare had the servants attend to Alfonso’s body as he carried his sister to her chambers. Trusted men had handpicked them and he felt assured that they would use discretion in this matter. It would not do for rumors to circulate that Il Valentino had murdered his brother-in-law, not when it was already known that he had killed Giovanni Sforza.

“Will you lock me up like a princess in a tower, Cesare?” Lucrezia asked hoarsely, as if her throat was raw from crying.

He had thought she was asleep, but her pale eyes caught his and he remained next to her on the bed, his tunic stained from blood.

“Why, would you like that?” he asked, hardly recognizing his own voice for how low it was. Strained, as if he were barely in control of it.

“Only if you are the one to possess the keys,” Lucrezia said, her hand twisting with his like a vine upon a lattice.

Cesare wanted nothing more than to remain at her bedside, to speak with her long into the night, to hear the words _I forgive you_ pass her lips. When he left Lucrezia’s chambers her back was turned to him, her long hair spread across the pillow like molten gold. He resolved to let her sleep. There would be other times, countless opportunities in the future for them to speak of this.

In the days leading to Alfonso’s funeral Cesare hardly had a moment alone with his sister. She kept company with her ladies, in black gowns and embroidered veils, even dressing little Giovanni in a black doublet, a delicate onyx necklace fixed around her pale throat. Lucrezia remained enigmatic, her long looks revealing very little. It was maddening. He recalled the way she had spoken of Alfonso, the way she had sighed and said _I grow so tired of my husband_ , knowing better than most how he had dispatched her previous one. 

What had she expected from him, if not this? Borgia or not, men did not simply disappear, however much she wished them to.

His father, on the other hand, sequestered Cesare in his apartments for several hours, nonplused by the death of his son-in-law, focused instead on the two parts of Italy that would decide the future of the Borgia family: Naples and the Romagna. Ordinarily Cesare would be leading these discussions, but it had been almost four days since Alfonso’s passing and he had yet to speak with Lucrezia alone, to look into her eyes and see if she held the accident of her husband’s death against him.

“What has you so distracted?” his father asked, setting down his goblet of wine.

“It is nothing, father. The hour is late. May we continue this discussion tomorrow?”

Nodding, he said, “Yes, of course. Tomorrow.”

For the funeral of Alfonso D’Aragona, the former husband of the Pope’s daughter, nothing short of lavish could be expected, with Cesare watching the ceremony with a stony expression. His brother-in-law had been encased in a finely crafted casket, drawn by a dark carriage with mares draped in black cloth. Cesare tried to catch his sister’s eye more than once during the procession—did she cry for her departed husband?—his hands knotted into fists at his sides.

Cesare returned to his villa in Rome without speaking to Lucrezia, but another was waiting for him when he crossed the threshold.

“Micheletto,” he said, feeling unsurprised and yet heavily relieved to see his associate seated by the fire.

“My lord,” he replied, sharpening his knife with slow, even strokes.

“Do you mean to stay?” Cesare asked.

He nodded.

“A dog needs a purpose,” Micheletto replied, sheathing his blade.

Cesare had the servants bring in food and drink for the both of them. He took a long sip from his cup of wine before returning once more to his maps, surveying the lands of the Romagna yet again, sharing the details of his conversation with his father with Micheletto.

“The Romagna may have to wait until we have taken Naples,” Cesare said disappointedly.

“And what of Florence?” Micheletto asked, tapping the site on the map.

“What of it?”

“King Louis will never allow you to take it,” he said. “He wouldn’t knowingly permit anyone else to gain so much wealth.”

“Then we must find a way for him to unknowingly give it to us,” Cesare said.

\--

The corridors of her brother’s villa were darkened at such a late hour, but Lucrezia felt no twinge of fear or worry at walking through the large home unaccompanied. She peaked into her brother’s bedchamber and found it unoccupied, the bed still made up, the sheets folded neatly. Could Cesare still be awake at this hour?

A modest strip of light shown under the door to her brother’s sitting room. Lucrezia quietly let herself in, only to find Cesare asleep at his desk, his head pillowed on a book with maps, letters, and scrolls spread out on his writing table. With only the fire to light the room she could not tell if he stirred at the sound of her entry. Gently, she touched his shoulder, brushing his long hair out of his face. He blinked and sat up in his chair, surprised to see her but also happy, his expression unguarded as he awoke from sleep.

“Come to bed, Cesare,” she said, taking his hand and leading him across the hall.

In that moment Lucrezia was reminded of earlier times when, as a young girl, she would crawl into her brother’s bed after a bad dream, but the death of Alfonso was no dream that could be awakened from, nor was her role in his death. The door closed behind them and Lucrezia sank down onto the bed, feeling her brother sit beside her on the mattress.

Quietly, his gaze fixed on his lap, Cesare said, “I have missed you, sis.”

She found his hand on the silk coverlet, threading his fingers between hers. Lucrezia bit her lower lip, giving a little sigh before she turned to the one person who had always been closest to her heart, no matter her efforts otherwise.

“It would be a lie if I claimed to not have missed you as well,” she confessed.

Her words must have pleased him because his mouth curled up at the corners, just a little, not the full, easy smile that she loved but something akin to it. Lucrezia remained still as he moved closer to her, her heart beating an irregular tempo in her throat. Cesare reached forward and cupped her cheek, his thumb trailing over her skin, brushing her bottom lip, tenderly bringing his forehead to rest against her own.

How was it that, after all the loss and destruction they had wrought, this pleased her more than the company of any other?

His eyes closed, he asked, “Will you ever find it in your heart to forgive me?”

She felt something in her chest contract, like a bruise that was sore to the touch. Lucrezia rested her head on her brother’s shoulder, feeling relief as his arms came around her, drawn up against him as if she could crawl beneath his skin.

“I thought that a kind husband would make me happy, a life where I could be safe with my child…”

A tear leaked out of the corner of her eye. Lucrezia wiped hurriedly at it, blinking away further tears.

“But even Alfonso could see the falseness in my desires. He said, ‘did kindness ever satisfy a Borgia?’ And we all know the answer to that.”

Cesare thumbed away the tears that fell down her cheeks, pulling her close enough that she was practically in his lap, the warmth of his body enveloping her like a steaming bath. Clutching her hand, he kissed her palm, drawing a shiver from her despite the burning in her skin, every touch from her brother making Lucrezia want to abandon this conversation and banish it to their past. And yet she knew these words had to be spoken.

“I could not withhold my forgiveness of you if I tried,” she said.

“Thank God for that,” Cesare replied, stroking her hair. “These past few days I had worried over you.”

“Why, brother? I am yours, alone, at last. Is that not what you wanted?” Lucrezia asked, a sharp edge to her voice.

Despite the pointed tone to her words she did not have it within her heart to truly chastise him. They had shared disagreements in the past, but they were rare, the few marred spots on the single gleaming, burnished thing they had.

“You know my desires, sis. But I would not have your heart broken over them.”

Her hand bound in his, Cesare brought her hand to his lips, kissing the soft pads of her fingers, his eyes trailing over her like a blaze over kindling.

“Then perhaps you should comfort me, then,” Lucrezia said, drawing in a slow breath that sank into her limbs, weighing down her spine, her breasts, settling in her belly and arching lower.

She felt her balance shift, the weight of her frame falling back onto her arms, Cesare’s form above hers, cradling her between the mattress and the line of his body. With her back against the bed linens his scent was all around her, all consuming, a smell that reminded her of safety and happiness and that unnamed, forbidden feeling of tension between her legs.

“It would be cruel to allow you to remain saddened,” he whispered, his teeth brushing over her neck. 

He kissed a spot along her jaw, her clavicle, his tongue laving at the skin along her chest. Lucrezia dug her nails into his back and pulled him closer. Every swipe of his lips over her skin had her spine turning in on itself, her heart thundering against her breast, beating until her blood sang with heat. Her hands fluttered over his back and shoulders, trying to find purchase as his hands felt beneath her skirts. Lucrezia arched her back toward him, always wanting to be closer, to tear away the barriers between them and have his skin flush with her own, the strength of her own desires surprising her.

They parted and Lucrezia shed her clothing, pulling her dress over her head, her eyes squeezed shut as Cesare rubbed his hands over her form, her lower lip between his teeth. Her shift was paper-thin and the scrape of the rough cotton against her skin made her keen against his touch, exhaling forcefully when he rolled her nipple through the fabric. Lucrezia tried to remove it, only to feel her brother’s hand at her shoulder anchoring her to the bed.

“Cesare,” she whined, her skin aflame at the feeling of his hands on her legs, brushing her calves, her inner thighs.

“Yes, sis?” he asked, sliding down her body to place a kiss against her knee.

“You are a teasing menace,” Lucrezia said, but her words lacked any real venom.

He smirked at her, his eyes as dark as a wolf’s, his lips trailing over the soft skin of her thighs. She shuddered when he placed a kiss on the bones of her hips, felt herself quake beneath his hands while he teased the most sensitive parts of her. Lucrezia wanted to feel herself beneath him, that was true, but with his chest pressed against her own, not drawn away from her like this. Her body felt tight and rigid, like a sore muscle that needed to be eased.

When he pressed his lips to the secret space between her legs she felt as if the whole world had been obscured and replaced by pleasure. Lucrezia let out a long, unbridled moan that shocked her in its loudness, her hands burying themselves in Cesare’s hair, pulling it tightly between her fingers. He would brush the edge of his tongue against her until her legs were practically shaking, close as she was to her release, only to pull away and frustrate her yet again. One of his hands reached up to fondle her breast and she could stand it no longer, the heel of her foot coming to dig into the space between his shoulder-blades.

“I want,” she panted, licking her lips to relieve their dryness. “Cesare, _please._ ”

He worked his mouth against her until her entire body was wrought with tension, her hips lifting off the bed as release curled through her. Her eyes closed, Lucrezia cried out his name as pleasure licked over her limbs, her heart beating wildly. Cesare moved from between her legs to her side, embracing her, one arm around her waist, his other hand buried in her hair.

“Have I pleased you, my love?” he asked, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

Her eyelids heavy, Lucrezia said, “You have indeed, but I shall need a great amount of comforting in the coming weeks. I’ve suffered a great tragedy.”

His lips a hair’s breath from hers, Cesare said, “You need only say the word.”


	2. Chapter 2

The three of them sat in silence while one of the Pope’s attendants poured goblets of wine, bowing his head deferentially before the Holy Father dismissed him with a wave of his ringed hand.

“What is it that brings you both here to speak with me?” he asked, taking a small sip from his glass.

“Naples,” Lucrezia said simply.

“Ah.”

The very word seemed to put their father off his drink. He sat down his cup, his shoulders seeming to take on a new weight, his brow furrowed in a manner that Cesare had grown used to seeing since his father took the papacy. In the light from the open window he could clearly see how gray his father’s hair had become, now shades of silver when it had once been dark brown.

“And I am assuming that you have some plan that you wish to tell me, if your united presence here suggests anything.”

Cesare had vowed to keep fewer secrets from his father in the future, and from Lucrezia, who deserved his trust most of all. The capture of Caterina Sforza had stunned their opponents into submission for the time being, but Cesare knew that it would take further acts of strength to keep it so.

“My plan is to journey to Naples, depose King Frederigo, and install Lucrezia as regent to King Louis of France,” Cesare said, carefully monitoring his father’s reaction. He knew that his father disapproved of heavy French involvement, and rightly so, considering the breadth of King Louis’ ambition, and yet without his support there could be no talk of binding the Romagna together.

“There is no one we would trust more than our own daughter, given the task, but will the French king agree to it?” his father asked.

“Leave that to me,” Cesare said. 

Looking toward Lucrezia, he thought he saw a glint of triumph in her eye. If their plan came to fruition he would make her a Queen in all but name, a move that would surely earn the displeasure of the great Italian states, leaving their family to defend their prize from a pack of angry, mistrustful wolves.

_Are we up to the task?_ Cesare wondered. Spain would certainly contest the loss of Naples, even while they conquered the New World and reaped all it’s lands and riches. An uncaring part of him believed that to be King Louis’ problem and none of his own concern, but Cesare knew as well as anyone that he could not leave the possibility of further foreign involvement to chance. After Forli he had some understanding of what it would take to invade Naples, but maintaining their gains would be the real test, the endeavor by which history would judge them.

“We entrust this task to you, Cesare,” his father said, his elbows braced on the arms of his chair, hands knotted in his lap.

“Must you ride north to plan your invasion with the French King?” Lucrezia asked.

“Yes, and soon, I should think. But it is his invasion, not mine, sis.”

“I doubt the other Italian states will see it that way,” his father said darkly. “Further alliances may have to be made to accomplish our goals, but that is a discussion for another time.”

His father rose from his seat, shrugging off the crimson outer cloak that he often wore about his rooms. Cesare took that as their sign to leave, offering his arm to Lucrezia and nodding farewell to his father, relieved to have settled on a plan to guide their family’s future.

\--

Lucrezia had not anticipated keeping her separate household in Rome, not when she spent so much time at her mother’s villa or in the Vatican, but it was pleasant to have her own residence. It afforded certain liberties that she wouldn’t have been allowed in her parents’ homes, a degree of privacy due to her status as a young widow that was rarely infringed upon.

She loosened the clasps of her hair net, gently placing it in her lacquered jewel box among many others, a smile easily finding her lips when she felt the touch of Cesare’s hands on her shoulders. He dug his thumbs into the muscles overlaying her shoulder blades, drawing a sigh out of her as she closed her eyes, the tension easing from her as if she were a housecat basking in the sun.

Lucrezia placed her hand over his. “That feels good.”

Her skin prickling, she felt the lightest of kisses against the side of her neck, then along her jaw, her brother’s arm sliding around her waist and anchoring her to him.

“ _You_ feel good,” he whispered, a lilting tone to his voice, like he had more in mind than chastely embracing her.

Lucrezia turned in his arms, placing her hands on the solid frame of his chest, one of her hands finding its way to the back of his neck, her fingers tangling with the curls there. Cesare slowly kissed the expanse between her neck and collarbone, the faint bite of his teeth making her shiver despite the warmth of the Italian sun through the open window, his lips dragging over the line of her jaw. With every kiss she grew more frustrated, standing to the tips of her toes and pulling his mouth to hers. His lips were warm and dry and familiar, drawing a shudder from low in her belly.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, Lucrezia could think of no want or need that overshadowed this moment. For so long her thoughts had been consumed with worry—over her child, her husband, her brother—that she had almost forgotten the distinct pleasure of simply _feeling_. Cesare brushed his tongue over hers and she sighed into his mouth, her toes curling in her shoes.

The crash of a silver serving tray colliding with the marble floor reverberated in Lucrezia’s ears, so loud that she was too stunned to move for a moment, thrown off by Cesare’s quick withdrawal from her, his jaw set in an expression of anger—or was it panic? She looked from her brother’s face to the source of the sound, a spilled pitcher of water and a fallen platter. Lucrezia’s mouth fell open in horror as she took in the sight of the spilled water soaking the hemline of Giulia Farnese’s gown.

“I…I did not mean to startle you, my lady,” Giulia said, her expression clearly one of shock. “I only meant to call on you in your time of mourning.”

The Lady Giulia turned and left. Her heart knocking against her breastbone, Lucrezia chased after her, a litany of excuses rushing through her brain. _It’s not what you think. Cesare only meant to comfort me. It is my fault, I am mad with grief. Please don’t tell my father, please don’t tell my mother, please don’t, pleasedon’t pleasedon’t—_

“Giulia!” Lucrezia said, her hand catching Giulia’s elbow.

“I must speak with you,” she said seriously. “Tomorrow, in private. But please, do not breathe a word of what you have seen until then. I beg you, if you ever thought of me as a friend then do me this one courtesy.”

Giulia Farnese, normally so kind and easy to read, wore a purposefully blank expression, too much of a lady to scold her, even if it was rightly justified.

“As you wish,” she said.

Lucrezia watched her leave, even in that moment wanting to seek comfort in her brother’s arms, knowing as she did that it was what had led her to this peril in the first place.

\--

“It is a crime, Lucrezia,” Giulia said, her perfect mouth drawn into an uncharacteristic frown.

“A crime without a victim,” Lucrezia replied, feeling like God himself had reached down and snatched her hopes and dreams from her hands.

They sat in one of the private gardens that belonged to Giulia’s betrothed, the pair of them seated beneath a silken canopy, surrounded by the last blossoms of summer. She had been served wine when she first arrived but Lucrezia could hardly think of consuming a drop with her stomach so twisted with worry.

If she had any hope of keeping her family together then the Holy Father and her mother could not learn of what she shared with Cesare. Lucrezia knew not how to make Giulia see that. She could only hope that her one-time friend would take pity on her and keep her vile secret from becoming circulated throughout Rome, the very ammunition against the Borgia family needed by her father’s enemies.

“Have you ever had a love that was so consuming that you could not bear to be parted from it?” Lucrezia asked, unable to meet Giulia’s eye for fear that she might cry. “If something were to happen to him I would be in my grave the very next day.”

Giulia reached over and took her hand. She may have been renowned for her beauty, but Lucrezia saw only kindness and sympathy reflected in Lady Giulia’s features, the older sister that she had always wished for.

“You are dear to my heart, and for that reason alone I will keep your secret, but if your father or your mother asks me directly I will not lie.”

Lucrezia rushed forward and hugged her, awkwardly bent over Giulia’s seated form, her face pressed into Giulia’s neatly plaited hair.

“I thank you,” she whispered, surrounded by the scent of her friend’s perfume. Lucrezia pulled away, wiping at the tears that had leaked out of the corner of her eye.

Giulia bade her to be seated and remain, “So that we may catch up on one another’s lives.”

“We shall be here for quite a while, then,” Lucrezia said, earning a true smile from her friend.

\--

Lucrezia arrived at her mother’s villa in low spirits. With Cesare in Milan and the heavy heat of late summer bearing down on her she had taken to feeling ill, often finding herself unable to eat a morsel of food without feeling nauseous. In spite of her poor health she was determined to dine with her mother. They were both in need of company.

During the course of her marriage she had been too occupied to assist her mother and Lady Giulia in the revitalization of the city, but now that her time had fewer demands Lucrezia intended to redouble her efforts. While dinner was served she listened to her mother’s plan for alms to be delivered to the poor every Sunday, taking a small portion of what was offered by churchgoers and using it to feed the less fortunate residents of Rome.

“It is a lovely idea, mother,” she said, taking only small bites of the meal lain before her. “But I fear that father will be in great need of funds if he means to go through with his plan for the Romagna.”

“You mean your brother will be in great need of funds,” her mother replied wisely. “He has the French King to supply his endeavors, does he not?”

“In some respects, yes, but I fear that father’s designs will require significantly more men, which means…”

“Significantly more coin,” her mother finished. “We will simply have to find some other way to bring this project to fruition.”

“Between you and Lady Giulia I trust that you’ll find a solution,” Lucrezia said agreeably.

In the midst of their conversation she found herself too nauseous to even look at her food. Hardly hearing her mother’s reply, Lucrezia laid down her fork and looked away from her plate, her stomach churning like a deck on the high seas.

“Lucrezia, my dear, are you alright?” her mother asked, rising from her seat and kneeling by her side.

Closing her eyes, she felt her skin turn to goose flesh as another wave of nausea overtook her.

“I feel rather ill,” she said, using her napkin to fan cool air over herself.

Her mother called for an attendant to bring water and a clean cloth, ushering Lucrezia into the sitting room where she dabbed cold water over her brow.

“What ails you, my love?”

“It is only my stomach, mother. It will pass.”

“How long have you had this illness?” her mother asked.

Pressing the cold cloth to her clammy neck, Lucrezia said, “It is the illness of pregnancy, nothing more.”

She felt her mother’s hand still against her brow, the soaked cloth pressed to her skin. Lucrezia opened her eyes to see her mother looking at her very closely, still more beautiful than any woman she had ever known, her mother’s almond-shaped eyes drawn with obvious surprise.

“And this child is your husband’s?”

“I highly doubt that,” Lucrezia confessed. “Alfonso and I…he did not lie with me often. This child is almost certainly not his.”

“Oh, Lucrezia,” her mother said, comfortingly bringing her arms around her. “I can hardly judge you for such an act. It would not be the first time that the sorrow of widowhood had driven a woman into the arms of another.”

Lucrezia did not have the heart to correct her.


End file.
